Running to You | Park Han + JL + Steven | Haneulz + Stejay AU

Chapter 84: The Lowest Point

"It's okay," Steven whispered, dabbing at the corners of JL's lips. "You're okay."

* * * 

The first outburst happened on a humid afternoon. The weight of summer pressing through the windows, hot and suffocating.

Steven had tried again, spooning soup toward JL's lips.

"Come on," Steven coaxed. "Just a little. Please."

JL stared at him, something sharp waking behind his flat expression.

"You don't get it." His voice cracked, rising. "Stop pretending this is temporary. Stop -- stop looking at me like love can fix this!"

Steven froze, spoon still mid-air.

"I love you," Steven said softly, but his voice broke on the last word.

The breaking point came three days later.

Another round of vomiting. More sleepless nights. More silence.

Steven was trying to help him sit up. JL shoved him, weakly, but enough to make Steven stumble back.

"No," JL rasped.

Steven stood frozen, his face cracking in real time.

"I'm trying, JL," he whispered. "I'm trying so hard to make this easier for you."

"You can't make it easier," JL spat. His breathing was shallow, fast. "You can't fix this. You can't -- " His voice broke entirely. "You can't give me back my legs."

The sound of ceramic shattering followed. JL's hand had lashed out, knocking the glass of water off the side table. It burst against the floor, the shards scattering like tiny stars.

Han crossed the room in two strides, voice sharp now. "Enough."

JL rounded on him next. "You -- " his voice shook, full of rage and helplessness. "You think you can just force me back into some fucking rehab routine like it's training. I can't walk, Han! I CAN'T WALK!"

"Then crawl," Han said, cold and steady. "But you don't get to stop."

JL sobbed -- raw, gasping, ugly. His whole body folding in on itself.  "Leave me alone! Both of you! Just -- leave me -- "

Steven backed away first, tears finally spilling, his hands trembling at his sides like he didn't know what to do with them anymore.

Han didn't move. "NO."

By the fourth day, the scent had settled in.

Not the sharp antiseptic of hospitals, but something worse -- the heavy, organic smell of a body giving up. Unwashed skin and stale breath. The sour-sweet stench of vomit that never quite cleaned out of fabric.

Han watched from doorways, learning by observation what didn't come naturally to him. The gentleness. The ease. The way Steven could touch JL without seeming to catalog all the ways his body had changed. How he smiled even when JL turned his face away.

"You're better at this than me," Han said one evening as they passed in the hallway.

Steven paused, his expression unreadable. "He doesn't scream at me."

It was true. JL saved his rage for Han - the accusations, the bitter questions that cut deeper than any physical blow could.

But three weeks in, everything shifted.

"I need you to leave," JL said one morning when Steven entered with breakfast. His voice was hoarse but clear. "And don't come back."